


Picture of Your Face in an Invisible Locket

by Darkmagyk



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Children, F/M, Forbidden Love, Jon Snow is Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Post-War for the Dawn, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 19:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16646693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkmagyk/pseuds/Darkmagyk
Summary: Magic has returned to Westeros.And the Queen in the North's children were just the most prominent example . They were not bastards, they were miracles. They were gifted from the Old Gods to the unwed woman so House Stark might grown and thrive.Jon Snow was primed more than anyone else in all of Westeros to see the truth in the Queen's stories of the children's conception. Jon Snow had witnessed many impossible things.But Jon did not believe the stories.





	Picture of Your Face in an Invisible Locket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsnow/gifts).



> Lizzie suggested the Lord Commander Snow/Queen in the North Sansa dynamic a long time ago, but I've been writing or trying write other things. Then yesterday on the way to work it just demanded it get written. So I wrote. 
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift's "Dancing With Our Hands Tied."

Magic had returned to Westeros. The Princes and princesses proved it.

The age of heroes was full of stories of brides that were goddesses and women who balanced three husbands with the mystical cleverness of a fox.

With magic no longer hidden, it was no surprise that such things happened once again.

The Queen in the North was merely the most prominent example. She was unmarried. Though widowed twice on some technicalities, that had been long ago too long to explain her children.

It did not matter though, and there was nothing to speculate on. She would tell the stories of their conceptions to anyone who might ask. She had been bathing in the pool of the Winterfell during the days leading up to the long night praying for her people and her family, when a wolf, as noble as the one that graced her family’s banners, had approached her. He had bowed to her, as any subject might have a queen and when she reached out a hand, he had licked it, a sweet wolf’s kiss.

Prince Brandon Stark had been born nine months later in the depths of winter and Night. An omen for the future of Westeros, the North, and house Stark. If the grey-eyed babe could survive, so could everyone else.

The Queen could have named any one of her bastards legitimate, as was her right. But there was no need. They were miracles. Gifts from the gods, each one created in the same way. They were not bastards. They were the future of house Stark, and the North rejoiced in them for that, even if a few off in the south, beyond the Riverlands and Vale that Queen Sansa also controlled, might privately express a more doubting opinion.

The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch had seen well more than his fair share of magic. He had seen corpses walk. He had howled at the moon as a wolf. He had ridden through the air on wings of flesh and fire. He had faced elves of the cold. He had seen a boy become a wizard. He had seen a girl change her face. He had died and magic flame had brought him back to life. 

Even now he sat on the magic that was the Wall, ancient spells woven into the ice that his own ancestor Bran the builder had created.

Jon Snow was primed more than anyone else in all of Westeros to believe the stories of his sister-cousin and her children. Jon Snow knew the legends of the first men, and knew the power of the godswood. Jon Snow wanted House Stark to grow and thrive. Jon Snow had witnessed many impossible things.

But Jon Snow did not believe the stories. Because Jon remembered the feel of Sansa’s body under his. He recalled the little gasp she had made as he had run a callused hand along her thigh, and the perfect give as he had taken on of her pert nipples into his mouth. He knew the taste of her lips, for he had spent hours indulging in both sets. He dreamed of the look on her face when he spent inside her, when she begged for his seed and his children. He woke from those dreams wanting to give her more and more. But could only offer it to his hand instead.

He would do anything for his sister-cousin-lover-queen-wife. Even this.

He rose from his place in the snow before her, ready to greet a Queen come to the Wall, but before he even had a chance, the little girls at her side both threw themselves at him.

They were so big now, nearly six. Grown so from the last time he had seen them, that it was a struggle to lift them both up, each resting on a hip.

But he got so little time with them, he would not pass up such opportunities. The next time he saw them, they would be too old for this.

Brandon, the oldest at eight name days past, looked at him with a critical eye from his mother’s side, though he was still very much a boy. Once he’d run to Jon too, now he was too grown up for such things.

Jon made his way closer to his family with his arms held firmly around Catelyn and Lyanna. There presence a good barrier to keep him from throwing his arms around Sansa and never letting her go.

Still, with the formality of introductions done, they can smile at each other sweetly, like family separated.

“Uncle Jon,” Catelyn cried, squirming in his arm and looking and sounding nothing like her namesake, “You get to meet our new sister.”

“How exciting,” He murmured in response.

Sansa held a bundle in her arms, but given the way she sat up, she was much more a toddler then a babe, though Jon had not met her before. He can see wisps of red hair poking out from under her grey hood. All of Sansa’s children are dressed in grey and white, and covered with direwolves.

All of Jon Snow’s children were clothed in Stark colors and sigil like it was the most natural and right thing in the world.

It warmed and broke his heart in equal measure.

The little girl turned her head and gave him a skeptical look. She had Sansa’s face, but the look on it was all Arya.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess.” Jon addressed her, though she was still too young for such titles to mean much. Even Sansa had not been a lady until three. The two other princesses giggled at the exchange.

The merriment caused the younger boy, clutching his mother’s free hand, to bury his head in her skirt.

He had met Jon twice, but clearly did not remember him.

He pushed away his hurt at that with formality. He had welcomed the royal family, but now he ushered them inside. There was no reason for the five children and his Queen to freeze outside.

She only ever brought a small retinue to the Wall. And they were preparing things while Jon helped Sansa get comfortable in the King’s Tower solar. He had made sure the fire was burning warm all day so they would be comfortable in their temporary rooms. And he and Sansa broke bread and salt together, Brandon at his mother’s side eager to partake, and Lya asking if there was jam.

“That’s not the point.” Sansa said, firmly, “We share bread and salt because we are guests here, and we will obey the rules while the Lord Commander takes care of us.”

“Exactly,” Jon cut in, only after she’d finished her lessons. “And my duties as host clearly mean we need jam, I’ll have some brought, shall I.” 

If they were a family all the time, Jon though Sansa might give him a disapproving look and accuse him of spoiling his children. But the truth was Jon did not get to spoil his children, he hardly got to see them, and so he must indulge them in everything possible in the short weeks he had with them. So Sansa just looked down, busying herself with the younger children, still unsure about this strange dark castle and its strange dark lord. 

Jon stuck his head out of the door to call at one of his men to get the Princess’s jam, but he soon found himself force to open the door fully to the colder hall air as Ghost came sprinting in from the Lord Commander’s chambers. 

All of the serious reserve Brandon was feeling, and the fear of the little ones went out the windows when confronted with Ghost. 

Catelyn declared her sorrow about not bringing a brush for him, and Lya started to untie the ribbons in her hair. Brandon declared that Ghost was a boy direwolf and that fierce creatures like him should not be treated like girls. 

Robb finally wandered away from his mother. And it was nearly shocking to see him so composed. So big. Last time he’d seen him, he’d looked like a small, cute, red haired babe. The first of Sansa’s lot. But now he was a child, over four, and looked almost too much like his uncle and namesake for comfort. Jon loved him all the more for it. 

He kneeled in front of Ghost’s belly and offering him just the right kinds of rubs. 

The baby, sitting on her mother’s lap and still wrapped up in warm furs, took an interest too. She wiggles and squirms until Sansa sets her down on the floor and Jon watches her toddle on cubby, unsteady legs towards her siblings and the wolf. 

She plopped down by Ghost’s head, and offered his snout a series of pats not at all as skillful as Robb’s belly rubs. But the direwolf did not seem to mind, he turned his head and licked her hand, and the shriek of delight she gave in response was sure to keep Jon warm on many future cold nights. 

Jon still hadn’t been introduced to her, though he could guess at her name even if the information hadn’t been sent to the Wall. 

He crept forward then, tiptoeing like he was on some hunt and not like he was approaching a group of playing children he had every right to approach with. 

“This is Ghost,” he told Robb “And he thinks you give great belly rubs.”

“I’ve practiced on the dogs in the kennel, but they aren’t as good as a real wolf.” He said, excitedly, he glanced at his little sister and her awkward pats, “You’re doing it wrong, he doesn’t like it.” 

“It's fine,” Jon promises, shifting towards her. 

“Goassss,” She said, “Goas and Arry.” 

“Right,” Jon said, grasping her tiny hand and guiding it over Ghost’s head in a soothing motion, “He’s Ghost and you’re Arya.”

She looked up at him then, and he’d seen so many things in those blue eyes. The ones that Robb and Bran and Rickon and Lady Catelyn had all had, the ones that Sansa and Little Robb had now. But this little girl only wanted an answer. 

“You?”

“Me?”

“You?” She repeats, “Goas, Arry, You?”

She was asking who he was. 

“Jon,” He said, and he didn’t choke when he repeated, “I’m your Uncle Jon.” 

Once, eight years before, in a locked room at the heart of Winterfell, he’d taken Brandon into his arms and held him close. He’d whispered words to him. Words like ‘Papa’ and ‘love.’ Words that would always be true, but had not been repeated since. 

He had to make himself leave shortly after that. He murmured about letting them settle while he attends to his duties. He didn’t actually have anything planned for the afternoon, but there's always something for the lord commander to do at the Wall.

Still, when Brandon begged Sansa and him both to be able to accompany him again, he could not refuse. 

The boy had seemed standoffish at first, proud and grown up. Jon had worried it meant he was done with the Lord Commander. But that faded. 

Everyone said he looked just like his grandfather, and that was true. He wondered if the few men remaining from his early Watch days would recognize him in the boy. Eight was not so close to four and ten, but not so far either. 

“Can I train with your men tomorrow?” Brandon asked as they walked through the training yard. 

“I should think so,” He replied “How else will I know if my men are up to snuff.” 

He boy giggles at that, “I’m learning how to use a lance and everything. And everyone says most of that’s horsemanship. And I’m great at horses.” 

“I expect you’ll be making a name for yourself in tourneys across the seven kingdoms soon,” Jon promised. 

“I’ll never be a knight,” He said with a scowl Jon knew had been on his own face, “I don’t follow the seven, we aren’t Southerners, Nuncle.” 

He said Southerners like a dirty word, but it was the other thing that bothered Jon. 

A strange inversion. Once, Ned Stark’s true born nephew had played the role of bastard son, now Jon’s bastard son played the role of true born nephew. Neither had known. 

Jon was quiet sure he did not like it. 

And he had known as much for years before. 

He made sure the Wall was safe and secure. That any evil from beyond realms of men would face a fight if they came to the Wall. 

And then he brought his oldest son back to Sansa, and joined them for dinner. 

Lya and Catelyn put the jam that was brought on most of their meal of stew, but seemed pleased as punch at the result. Arya decided that she just had to sit in Jon’s lap, and he tried not to be too taken with the entire thing, and after Brandon brought up Longclaw, it was all Robb wanted to talk about for the rest of the meal.

It was family, the seven of them. No one could deny that. Jon was Sansa’s family and her children were too, even if they were all so much more than that. 

When supper was finished Sansa saw to the preparing of the children for bed. He told the children that Ghost could spend the night keeping them company and Jon wished them a goodnight, reminding Sansa he’d see her tomorrow to discuss resources and projects with his first builder and steward, and left. 

Then he went to the Lord Commander’s chambers and lay down in his bed alone, awake for a long time. He did not snuff out the candles.

The knock at his door was not surprising. He’d left it unlocked for a reason.

Sansa slipped in quietly, wrapped in a dressing gown, and made her way to the bed, shedding it only once she’d arrived and could slip into his furs.

“How are you, my love?”

“I am better because you are here.” He said as he pulled her close to him. 

She was cold from her walk to him, but he didn’t mind. It gave him an excuse to warm her up. He kissed her cold nose with lips kept warm in bed, and then trailed kisses all over her face, trying to spot the new lines and changes. 

She was not old by any means, but the only way to prevent aging was to die young. So he kissed the faint lines on her forehead and hopped for many years of many more.

“I’m missed you,” She said between returning his kisses, running her hands through his hair and along his beard. He’d meant to get it more under control before she arrived, but she at least didn’t complain as it scratched against her lips. 

“I’ve missed you too.” He said. It had been well over a year. They’d met at one of the smaller holds on the gift, working out some questions of how they might make them profitable once more. She’d not even brought the children and they had not even had a week together. She was making a tour of the North. 

He could have explained the length of time on his bodies reaction. Her presence, even in one of her thicker shifts, was undeniable, right up against his often lonely manhood. 

But he knew he’d react to her even if he had her in his bed every night. 

She groaned in delight as he shifted and he knew she could feel his desire against her hip. 

“I can feel that.” She grinned, tracing her fingers along his stomach and down to where his small clothes were tied. 

“As much as I love your teasing,” He said, “if you keep that up I’ll be useless to you.” 

“Useless?” She whispered, “I think not, you still have a mouth, don’t you?” before reaching into the draw strings, and wrapping her hand around his cock. 

“I would prefer both,” He said, “it's been a very long time since I’ve tasted a lady.” Leaning in for a kiss again. 

She pulled back and smiled a little in the flickering candles, but there was something off in her eyes. “I am glad to know only I get that from you.” 

He didn’t want to answer the unspoken question, so he dragged her mouth to his, kissing her hard and then pushing his tongue into her mouth for that taste.

In truth he had had no woman since before they created Brandon. He wanted no one else, and though he had broken such vows long ago, he was not going to seek Mole town whores. Or go to Longbarrow, The Wall’s holdfast that held the women’s garrison. He was to set something of an example to his men, hypocrite or not. And he was not going to betray Sansa, for whatever that was worth. 

But he did not know if she kept a lover besides him, and he did not want to. He could not hold it against her. But he could be jealous. Jealous of some other man who got to warm her bed most nights, who got to see her children every day. 

He would try and content himself with the fact that she choose only him to father them. 

She was helpful in distracting him now, pushing up her shift so he could see her body as she adjusted the furs. He ran callused hands over soft breasts and stomach, he enjoyed the weight and the curves. Ten years ago everything had been tighter and smaller, but he liked the emerging pouch, the slight sags. He loved the jagged lines that showed how she’d brought his children into the world. Sometime during this visit he would get a chance to worship them properly. 

But right now was not the time. 

She undid the ties of his small clothes, barring him to her, though, arranged how they were under the furs, she could not see. 

It almost made it better. She had to feel her way around him, and her soft, skilled hands, steady from years of needlework and knitting, ghosting over his lower body was intoxicating. Better then any dream he’d ever had of her. 

She guided him inside of her, and he sunk into her wet cunt with a gasp somewhere between pleasure and ecstasy. Her feet tangled with his were still cold, but this part of her could never be. 

“I want another son.” She said, when they were both settled, and he moaned into her neck at the words. She always did this. Told him of the babes they would have when he was inside of her. 

“Six children is a lot.” He whispered back before biting the spot behind her ear that he knew she loved. 

“Yes,” She agreeed, moving her hips in time with his thrusts, not at all trying to make it last “we need a lot. We need house Stark to grow large and strong. And only we can do that. Please give him to me.”

It meant everything to him, that trust and love. He felt his way to her clit, pinching and rubbing at it furiously, knowing that he would not last long, and wanting them to come something like together. 

His peak was almost a surprise, despite his desperation, so focused as he was on her’s. It came in due course, just after he’d spent his seed deep in her. 

She did not let him pull out. “If you stay in, it has a better chance of taking root.” She reminded him, resting her folded arms on his chest as he went soft inside her. She kissed a scar at his heart. “We’ll call this one Eddard, I think.” 

He liked how she said we, like he was to have anything to do with it. He skimmed his hands along her waist, imagine her round with his child. He’d never been able to properly see it, properly indulge in it. To properly help her through her pain and struggles. To hold his newborn son in his arms, kiss her sweaty forehead and thank her. 

“If you like,” he said with a kiss. 

“The world needs another Eddard Stark.” 

“It does, Love.” He agreed. But with something like a heavy heart. 

Eddard Stark, or Eddard Snow. The bastard of a nobel Stark Lady and a Targaryen cast off breaking his vows. 

He dreamed of his seed quickening into a babe. Of a little Prince Eddard Stark joining the world. Sansa dreamed it so he did too. And when he met the babe when it was a year or so old, he’d love it as fiercely as he did it’s siblings. 

He had sworn to Sansa once, over ten years ago, that he would do anything for her. He wondered if she realized this was one of the hardest things she could have asked for. 

Fighting the Others and protecting the North, ensuring her crown, slaying her enemies. He could do those, who gladly do them again for her. Would relish being able to serve her in such a way. 

But he had sworn to father no bastard before he’d even sworn himself to the Watch. And now he had five, and prayed for the sixth. 

And in several weeks time, when her womb was full of his sixth child, he’d watch her march the others out of the castle gates and back home. 

And in a year or so, when she returned with a new babe named Ned, or he found an excuse to take him to Winterfell, and she asked for another child? He’d rip his own heart out, kiss her perfect lips, and give her what she wanted. 

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [tumblr](http://darkmagyk.tumblr.com/).


End file.
